Pets
by Starscream's Mishap
Summary: They say that there is no greater love...


Sit

"Beautiful!" Tracks cooed in that mellifluous voice of his. They were overlooking the cityscape as the sun rose. "I can almost hear Gershwin."

"You've been hanging around Blaster too long," Gears snorted, turning back to the parking lot of the Weehawken motel they had accompanied the FBI to. The drug bust had been successful. Now the Autobots were going to return through the Lincoln tunnel once traffic subsided, which as far as Gears was concerned would never happen. "It looks like the same ole' pile of rocks and melted sand coated with pollutants."

"Really Gears, you have such a lack of aesthetics. See the colors of the atmosphere? Admire the light from the star above us as it caresses the buildings like works of art. The pronouncement of the lines, the blurring of reality as the shades change and redefine what they saw in the night time." He smiled. "The human used to worship their sun like a god. Now I see why."

"The only thing I see is a mech who's diodes are SCRAMBLED." Gears transformed and rolled out of the parking lot. "And if he doesn't get his tailpipe in gear we're going to be late for patrol change."

Time off was more important than the virtuosity of a sunrise, no matter how gorgeous. Tracks was honking his horn with the rest of the weary commuters soon enough. Mostly he dwelled on how soon he could slip out of Sparkplug's garage and cruise around the Met, seeing if any tourists wanted their picture taken with him. It was his newest hobby. Spike told him someone had started a website where people exhibited snapshots of themselves posing with various Autobots. Tracks had the highest number, although he was not the most popular. There was someone who'd had their picture taken with Rumble. Chip claimed it was Photo-Shopped.

Gears was wondering about his partner. Who cared about a planet rotating to face a star? The only thing THIS Autobot wanted to see glowing in front of him was a cube of energon. As they inched their way through Midtown traffic a movement in the shadows of a narrow alley caught Track's attention. He sent the grumbling Gears, because he was the one of the pair who could fit.

"I wanted this shift to be over," he complained as he strode into the alley. "Tracks and his-what are YOU doing here?"

It was Frenzy. He was mugging some overdressed dandy. Seeing Gears, he tried to tackle him but didn't get very far once Track's blaster convinced him there was backup.

"See ya around, geek!" Frenzy yelled as he took to the sky.

"Suck a tailpipe, you punk!" Gears snarled back. He turned to the suit and discovered no one there. Perhaps he had run deeper into the alley, which was pretty stupid of him. Gears decided to follow. He took five steps and noticed a few cast-aside cardboard liquor boxes rattle. "Aha!" The well-dressed man must be hiding. "Don't worry, he's gone." He peered around the boxes. "You can come out now!"

From the pile emerged a trembling figure. Sandy blond hair, brown eyes that, although terrified, danced with a look of perfect love and trust, one Gears had never seen before in a being. The mech felt his spark flare, and the sunrise Tracks had described in such loving detail exploded into a cacophony that quickly righted itself into a symphonic breeze.

"Hello," he said softly. The being wagged its tail in response. At least, what looked like a tail. Most of it appeared to be a stump. His lips parted and he panted, loping over to allow Gears to scratch the top of his head with part of his hand.

Heel

"You sexy thing," Tracks chattered, this time at someone _he_ found irresistible. "Who told you to look like that, all foxy and hot? Baby, you'd better be careful, or the Sharkticons will come and get you!" Even in his silky voice Tracks could make an old Cybertronian warning sound seductive. "How anyone can resist your body is beyond me."

"Will you quit talking to your reflection and radio Prime before he sends out a search team!" Gears impatiently snarled from the depths of his hiding place. The blue, yellow and red convertible transformed and turned away from the shiny windows of the bank building to regard his missing partner.

"Are you still in there?" Tracks called. "Where's Frenzy?" He tried to peer into the dark alley, to no avail. Gears walked out with a cardboard box awkwardly angled under an arm. "What happened?"

"Nothing. He got away." The cardboard box shook. "And the human's missing."

None of this mattered anymore. Tracks looked back at the smiling red face that beckoned him. Primus, he was hot! Sunstreaker would DIE of envy when he saw the new glitter undercoat Track's paint job was getting with the extra money he and Gears earned for helping the FBI (they insisted). He reluctantly rolled out, losing sight of his beauty as they rolled for Sparkplug's garage.

Spike was there with Raoul, fighting again. Neither got along. Spike saw him as a total stranger who did not need to be with the Autobots while Raoul had no interest in taking orders from a kid who had no knowledge of city life and thought he was the only human being who was allowed to talk to alien robots. Their disagreements constantly jarred everyone around them, and today a larger-than-usual fight was brewing; this time over who misplaced the newest tool chest. When the argument escalated to racist/homophobic epithets Prime threw them both out of the meeting and informed them neither was allowed to see another Autobot until they were ready to act like human beings. Shrugging their shoulders at another classic Optimus Malaprop, both greeted Tracks with a warning.

"Prime's in one of those _moods_," Spike said, rolling his eyes. Raoul regarded him contemptuously.

"Man, THAT is what I'm talkin' about! You sound like-"

"OUT!" bellowed Optimus Prime from the other room. Grumbling, both headed to the street until Gears pulled Spike aside.

"I need-I need-" the bot glared, frustrated. He had no idea how to ask for a favor. Primus knew Bumblebee had complained about it enough as it was, now it turns out the little slag heap was right. Just say it. "I need to know how to take care of-this." He opened the top of the box as he spoke.

"Awwwww!" Spike was enchanted. "A Cocker Spaniel!" The beast wagged his stubby tail at Spike, too, making Gears jealous. It began to lick the human's face. Disgusting!

"So that's what it is? A Cockaspania?"

"It's a breed of dog. You know, like a Dinobot is part of the Autobots." Spike scratched its ears the right way and the animal's left leg kicked at the air in joyful reaction.

"Rotten comparison," Gears countered, scowling. He had no time to talk; they were waiting inside for him.

"You know, I've never had a pet. They didn't allow them on the oil rig. Chip did some work with 'PAWS for a Cause,' though. I'll have him give you a call."

"After the meeting!" Gears called, hurrying inside the other room before Optimus could come out and see them breaking a cardinal Autobot rule: NO PETS. Sentient beings deserve freedom, and alien beings deserve the environment in which they were created. Prime had too many rules.

Spike caught a roll of twenties tossed at him with instructions to 'get stuff.' Glancing at the dog, the human herded both of them over to the phone book in his dad's office and called the nearest pet store.

Roll over

Chip was pure help. Once safely ensconced in their New York underground base Gears gave Chip a phone call through Teletraan-1. Spike was there, too, scratching the dog's head and babbling some high-pitched nonsense. Chip explained how to feed, care, maintain, and clean up after the dog. He explained that dogs like to play. Spike showed him the 20-foot leash he had found, as well as a collar Gears could put on the dog without choking him. Gears was a lot stronger and larger than he.

"This could be somebody else's dog," Spike pointed out. "You should put up posters or check the papers or something."

Gears sympathized with Raul's animosity towards Spike. "He's my dog now."

"What's his name?" Chip asked. "You can't call him Dog."

"Roscoe," Gears replied without hesitation. He was involved in the leash, something that caused the buff-colored being to shiver with delight and turn in circles. Spike put the leash on him and allowed Chip to guide Gears through the proper way to keep Roscoe at bay and to keep him from making a mess on the ground, since the City of New York had statutes about that kind of thing.

"Hey Spike, what's-whaoah!" Bumblebee, the Ever-Present Annoyance, was there, startled to see a four-legged being depositing something nasty on the floor. Gears got out a scooper and a bag, making a more sour face than usual. "What is THAT!"

"None of your business." Didn't he have something better to do? Bumblebee was a greater nuisance than ever!

"It's Roscoe," Spike supplied helpfully. Watching Gears make a mess of the dog's mess made Spike see why Sparkplug was not an animal lover. Yuck!

This cracked the yellow mech up. "You mean like, Sheriff Roscoe P. Coltrane, from _The Dukes of Hazzard_?"

Spike laughed with him. "Yeah, I guess so! I didn't know you watched TV, Gears!"

"Oh yeah!" Bumblebee interrupted gleefully as Gears scowled deeper. "We...watched it together...all the time..." suddenly the mech's voice grew sadder. "At least we used to."

"OK, show's over! Everybody out!" Gears had finished his task and was irritated by not only the audience but the reminder of something more unpleasant than dog leavings. Spike and Bumblebee left, after promising to keep their vocalizers inert regarding this subject. Gears slammed the door behind them and turned to his new pet, who looked at him over his new food dish with manipulative eyebrows clearly stating that he was sad because he was FAMISHED. Gears poured the food while the tail wagged.

"Just don't overfeed him," Chip warned over the phone. "That's a good way to make him fat."

Speak

Tracks clicked on the mouse to show Raoul that he wasn't crazy. "See? All of them took pictures with ME!"

"Yo, T, I never said you was trippin', all I said was any corn-fed white boy from Iowa would be too green to know who you was, and that they'd take a pic with a tractor who said he's an Autobot." In his attempt to be a better teen counselor Raoul spent more time learning street talk than studying for his final exams. His slang needed work, as did his grades. Tracks had declared a study break from their role-playing exercise to brag about his latest hobby.

"They're not ALL from Iowa. This guy's from Columbus, Ohio. Which makes no sense since that's the guy I saw in the alley this morning-" Tracks studied the picture, but it was too blurry to discern any noticeable features. "-or not. I'll get Gears to look at it."

Raoul walked away, picking up his book again. "Ha. Good luck wit' that. G's been chillin' in his crib since the AM." Tracks saw his friend wave him over, signaling the beginning of another role-playing game. When all of these were done Raoul had to write a paper. Tracks sighed and obeyed. Five more hours until his next shift started. "For this one, you're a pregnant teen and your mama's a crack whore..."

Walk

"Gears?" Bumblebee timidly knocked on his chamber door with his free hand. The other hand held an energon cube.

"You again! What now?" This was not the greeting the yellow mech had hoped for. The door slid open with an angry mech on the desirable side. "Energon? Dogs can't have energon!" he spoke with the authority of one who had not just heard Chip explain the same thing a few moments before Bumblebee's appearance. The dog got into everything! His car magazines, his video collection, then his secret stash of energon! Fortunately he had thrown it up before it did any damage. Chip suggested taking Roscoe to the vet, but where would Gears get one after five o'clock? The mech promised to observe the dog and report anything suspicious. So far Roscoe was curled on Gear's recharge plate (turned off) with his new blanket, cheeks occasionally puffing when he barked in his dream. Gears scratched his belly and the dog rolled over, sighing. Then the door knocked.

Bumblebee showed no signs of hurt from the callous brush-off he received. "It's for you."

Gears reluctantly took it. He didn't want it, but to refuse it was not very polite, even for him. He offered to share it with Bumblebee, who eagerly accepted and bounded over to the recharge plate.

"Don't wake him!" Gears called, too late. Roscoe lifted his head, wagged his tail, and drifted back to sleep. His owner was less forgiving. "Sit on the floor! Before you cause me even more trouble."

Gears split the energon into two dispensers and allowed Bumblebee first pick. It was a ritual they had continued even after their break-up. Bumblebee always took the less-full one. Then they would sit on his recharge plate, talk, or watch TV, or if Gears was in the mood, they'd turn off the lights and see who attacked the other first. Tonight Gears left the light on and placed himself as far away from Bumblebee as possible, leaving him the corner closest to Roscoe. This arrangement was fine with Gears but unsatisfactory for his guest.

Bumblebee watched Gears pet Roscoe with a green optic. "So you dumped me for a dog."

Roscoe's fur was soft. It caught the light in brilliant waves that made it look rougher than it really was. When Gears stroked the supple shoulder joint the dog felt like silk. Whatever Spike bathed him in had been wonderful. Roscoe smelled better, too. He seemed to smile in his sleep. It made Gear's core warm up just looking at him. The hard, yellow, complicated, unhappy mech before him did not do this. It had been nice to find out the little guy looked up to him, even flattering that he had been so eager to try more than mere conversation. Too bad he was such a pain in the tailpipe. If only he knew whcih end of Gears was up..."No, I dumped you because you were annoying. The dog is a bonus."

Sigh. "You know, you really are a prick." Energon unfinished, Bumblebee stood up and walked out. "Good-night."

Gears stood up and danced. "Good night! He's gone! I don't know what a prick is, but it got rid of Bumblebee!" Roscoe barked in delight at the sight of his friend. "Shh! Sh! Stop!" He hoped no one had heard his dog. Gears peaked outside to see Red Alert in the hallway, frozen in mid-stride, optics wider than usual. "Woof woof! AHEM! Oh, good to clear that voice box! That seems to do the trick! Woof! Oh, _hi Red Alert_! I didn't see you there! Just, ah, you know, clearing the ole' vocalizer." Speech complete, Gears closed the door behind him. Red Alert shook his head and vowed to cut back to THREE pots of energon a day instead of his usual four.

Run

"Beautiful!" Gears sang as the rain splashed around them.

"It's pouring rain, we're stuck in traffic, my wax job is GONE, Raoul had me up all night acting like a crack whore, and now _you're_ saying it's beautiful? Did I land in a parallel universe?" Their shift was almost over. Nothing but rain and cranky New Yorkers as far as the scanner could see. No deviant behavior to report; criminals may be conniving and devious, but they have lousy work ethics, thus no thugs lurked the street in the downpour. Gears, champion complainer of the Autobots, was in a good mood, and it scared the glitter out of Tracks. There had to be a more logical explanation. "Or did Bumblebee get past first base last night?"

"Shut up." Spike has a big mouth. He walked in on them one time and Gears has yet to hear the end of it. "We broke up a week ago."

"You were actually together?" Tracks was still talking but he'd caught a glimpse of that guy he'd seen yesterday, on the website, and now selling canishes out of a streetside cart. "Gears, I thought you were a slut."

"I am! And I don't know if we were together! He says we were, so I said 'OK,' just to make him stop whining. He sounds like a broken fan belt when he doesn't get his way, did you know that?"

"Yeah," Tracks responded, not listening. "Gears, do you recognize that guy over at the northeast corner?"

"Nope. No, wait a second! Hey! That's the suit I bailed out yesterday! What's he doing at a canish stand? HEY you!"

This was the wrong thing to say. Realizing that he'd been noticed the vendor raced away from his wheeled stand and jumped into a waiting cab, one that had been off until it had a passenger. Tracks shot his wings out and took off to go after him, losing him when the human left the cab and ducked into the subway. Gears was running after them in robot mode for easier maneuverability but could not get anywhere near the subway station in time to catch him. The 6:20 to uptown was pulling out when he'd finally wiggled his way down there. He came back up to the Corvette empty-handed.

Sit Pretty

"This is slaggin' WEIRD!" Gears exclaimed, staring at the picture on Tracks' website. "What does that guy want with you?"

"I have NO idea. It must be a fan."

Bumblebee hurried in. "Guys, Prime wants a report. Hey, what's that? Tracks, you have a website? Cool!"

Tracks walked away, Gears hastily following him and hoping the small yellow mech would leave him alone. He was almost out the door when a hesitant voice called him back.

"What?" he crisply demanded. Bumblebee was going to drive him off of a cliff!

The mech's face fell a little, giving Gears a pang of guilt. "Um...well, I've seen this guy hanging around the shop." The Autobot tapped the picture Tracks had just shown him. "Spike will back me up."

"WHAT? Tracks, get in here! Bring Prime!" Gears quickly turned to the mech, optics blazing. "What did he want?" Gears heard the heavier tread of Optimus Prime coming up behind him. Spike came in from Sparkplug's office, sarcastically asking Prime if he were allowed to speak to the Autobots yet.

"Inconsequential. You've been seeing them behind my back, negating any punishment I have administered." Spike had enough sense of decency to blush before he got down to business.

"Yeah, he's been around. He had a 'vette like you, Tracks. Pretty sweet, but he wouldn't let us look under the hood until we answered some questions. I told him I was busy so I could go get a hold of you guys so I had Raoul talk to him. He chased him out, the slaggin'-" Spike caught himself when he realized Prime was glaring. "I forgot about it until now."

Optimus Prime ignored Spike's obvious bias and asked Tracks to get Raoul over. Gears asked to be dismissed.

"What for?" Prime asked.

Roscoe needed to be walked sometime today, and last Gears checked his water was running low. Of course he couldn't tell Prime that. "My gyroscope's outta whack," he said in his whiniest voice. "And I had to drive around in that _acid_ rain. Now my undercarriage needs flushing or I'll never recover! Don't get me started on my tire alignment-"

"Dismissed," Prime interrupted, eager to get this menace out of his way. "Spike, get me Chip on Teletraan-1. I haven't heard their report this week and my e-mail server's down again. Red Alert, what are you up to? I need to you tap into the NYPD files and see if THIS man is on their wanted lists. Tracks, when you're done talking to Raoul, I need you to call your FBI friend and ask him about this guy, too. Spike, try to recall what specific make and model car he drove-" Gears was out the door and hurrying down to the basement as fast as he could go. Chip had warned him about 'accidents,' and he hoped Roscoe hadn't done that.

The golden Spaniel was cheerfully gnawing on his rawhide bone on Gear's recharge plate when the door opened. Roscoe dropped the bone and jumped down to run to Gears, joyfully whining and wagging with joy. Gears was floored. Somebody was happy to see him for no good reason. It felt...nice.

"Hello," he said, using the same soft voice he'd employed when he'd first met his pet. "I hope you've been good." A casual perusal of the room proved yes, he had been good. Gears got out his leash and stealthily led the dog out the backdoor. He could still hear Prime issuing orders. Apparently the Decepticons had tried to take another power plant and failed. Gears slunk out while the rain was letting up and helped Roscoe gallop down the street in canine ecstasy. His little rear end wiggled as he panted and pulled, stopping to inspect everything he could stick his nose into. Gears was lost watching something so small hold so much happiness. It kind of reminded him of Bumblebee. Gears smile disappeared as he shook his head to clear the image and quickened his pace to accelerate the dog's momentum. It was starting to rain again. Roscoe galloped with dogged determination and a smile on his lips.

Play dead

Raoul couldn't recall the visitor at all. "Man, we had twenty people wander in here that day! Most of them nuts! You can't really expect me to remember some guy in a suit!"

"He had a Corvette, Raoul, even your dumbass could remember THAT."

"_SPIKE!_" It wasn't even noon yet and Prime wanted to call it a day.

Raoul glared back at his rival, ignoring the irked robots around him. "I'm surprised you'd even notice the car the way you spend your time checking out every dude's ass the minute they walk in here." He was scooped up by Tracks before he could finish his insult. Bumblebee had Spike in his arms like a doll and had run towards the basement, Tracks going the opposite direction. "HEY! What's the big deal, T?" Raoul squirmed in his friend's grasp until the blue mech deposited him outside in the rain. "What's the deal, man?"

Looming over him like a giant stature, Tracks crossed his arms as car horns honked around him. "Do not. Ever. Fight like that in Prime's presence AGAIN. You _will_ be sorry."

"That Mac don't scare me!" Raoul began to stand and was rudely shoved back into a sitting position.

"He should. This is a mech who stares down his own death at least once a day and keeps his sanity. He has to pick between treating us well and treating us like soldiers, and so far he's done the right thing at the right time, IF you do what you're supposed to. There are very few things that really piss him off, and you, my easily squashed and forgotten humanoid, just did the big one."

Raoul tried to stand up again. "So?"

"SO?" Humans are morons! Tracks shoved him back down again. "Don't get up until you're processing correctly! I'll go get your book." Raoul was not going to go very far with that kind of attitude.

"Yo, T? Tracks!" Tracks came back to see someone with a camera taking pictures of both of them as fast as he could. The moment he was caught he broke into a run, slipping on the wet cement. Tracks transformed and Raoul jumped in, radioing Prime as he did. "Chase him down!" he hollered, pounding the roof. "Yeeeee-hah!"

Tracks halted at the brink of a traffic jam. "Grow up," he snarled, shoving Raoul out of the pilot's side to transform. "He went thatta-way."

"Now who needs to grow up?" Raoul groaned, glad he had been a runner in high school. Tracks had a long stride.

Sing

Roscoe loved being dried off after his walk. He burrowed his head into the towel and let his nose peek out of the other side in the cutest way, wagging his tail while Gears talked to him.

"Spike said Central Park is a great place to take your dog. Maybe tomorrow we'll go over there after my patrol. Depends on if my knee joint is acting up again. It hasn't, but I had to slog through that rain and it washed away HALF the lubricant I put in last night." Roscoe leaned over and licked Gears' face. "Yuck! Dopey dog." The animal didn't care, merely opening his mouth to pant in a doggy grin.

"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" garbled someone in the hallway.

Gears looked at Roscoe, who obviously wasn't expecting guests. "That must be Bumblebee." Still glowing from the affection Roscoe had given him Gears arranged a scowl on his face and opened the door in time to catch a jettisoned Spike. "Oof!"

"Nice catch." The yellow mech was in the room and being welcomed before Gears could ask Spike what he and Raoul were fighting about this time. Upon explanation the red Autobot frowned for real. Not that anyone noticed; they were playing 'obtain' with Roscoe.

"What kind of questions did he ask you, Spike?"

"I dunno. What was under Tracks' hood, I guess." Spike was having more fun faking the throw and watching Roscoe dive for his invisible rawhide bone. Bumblebee was watching, too. He looked up to see Gears deep in thought. He wasn't a very good-looking mech. His attitude would sour a lemon. He treated Bumblebee like a used oil can. Still, he was, to quote Spike, a damn good lay. He seemed TOO good. There had been rumors. Bumblebee had wondered about them, but when Gears had agreed they were a couple it rested Bumblebee's fears, at least until he found out one day his services were no longer needed.

Without any warning Gears rushed out to find Tracks, leaving the door wide open for a passing Red Alert to see Bumblebee throwing his giant bulk in front of the dog and Spike letting go of the rawhide bone. All Red Alert processed was Bumblebee diving for a strange toy. Both smiled innocently at the security officer. Red Alert shook his head and vowed that three pots of energon were not enough, that he had to go back to four.

Get back here

Tracks had a radio call from Gears demanding to know where he was. "In hot pursuit of our stalker!" he explained as the photographer/canish vendor/suit/fanatic ran into the street and wove his way around a multitude of pedestrians. Raoul wasn't making much headway and Tracks had a following that was most impressive, even for New York's jaded population. A few could not resist the handsome Transformer as he rushed by, joining a throng that rushed behind him and slowed down his compatriot.

"Where is he? We'll join you!"

The street was teeming with humanity the point that their prey had disappeared. "We lost him again."

"Return to base, then. Spike's got his profile from the FBI right here!"

Tracks halted, standing still on a part of the sidewalk that was relatively empty. "Who is he?" the mech asked, signaling Raoul to wait a moment. The human stopped at his feet, gasping for air. Track's loyal fans scrambled over, forcing him to lift Raoul onto his shoulders for the guy's own safety. "Never mind, I'll see you back at base." He waved to his crowd. "No pictures, please! Maybe another time!"

Attack

Optimus Prime looked over the file. Joseph Raymond Drader, 45, former marine for two years and becoming an FBI agent until it was discovered he was dealing drugs on the side. He served three years in a state penitentiary and six months probation. When he was released, he couldn't return to the force so he opened his own private investigator business. Key clients: lawyers. Divorce lawyers, litigaters, even lobbyists who wanted to catch government officials en flagrant for better leverage...they all went to him. He was the best. So what did he want with Tracks?

"What else? I called Chip and he looked up a couple of business journals. One law firm name on Drader's client list matched a recent article I read: Sawyer, Thatcher, and Finn."

"What is your conclusion?" Optimus Prime demanded, perplexed over the histrionic presentation. Tracks could be dramatic, but not Gears. The red mech gestured to Tracks in alt mode.

"Sawyer, Thatcher and Finn represent General Motors. The makers of the Corvette. If GM thinks we stole their design they're more than likely about to hit us with a nasty lawsuit."

"That's ridiculous!" Tracks snarled, transforming for extra outrage. "What could they possibly gain from suing the Autobots, except for bad press?"

"Bad press, maybe, but they might also get settlement talks, in hopes that we might give them a few engineering secrets in return for proudly sporting their Chevrolet badge. Maybe they want us to be exclusively GM cars." Tracks waved his arms in frustration, protesting the absurdity of them having to protect themselves like this. "Tracks, this is the 90's. People sue fast food emporiums over beverage temperature."

"That was a legitimate lawsuit!" interrupted Chip from the Teletraan screen. "That coffee wasn't hot, it was SCORCHING. If she'd drunk it the moment it had been on the counter, the coffee would have burned her mouth raw! That coffee was TWICE the temperature it needed to be to be legally considered hot!"

"Never mind," Optimus boomed, covering over Chip's offer to read the documents concerning the issue. "I think we need to find this detective and ask him ourselves. Spike, call up Carly and request her presence early this weekend for reconnaissance duty. We'll have her hire the detective and set up a sting. Until then, Chip, try to find us defending counsel and file a request for Prowl to get them on retainer. Just in case." He stood up to signal the end of the meeting when a screech echoed throughout the base. "What was that?"

Hurrying down to the basement they met up with a fleeing Red Alert, who was screaming for his blaster. "The rats in New York are HUGE! Get it OUT!" He pointed to Roscoe, who was wandering the halls confused. Somehow he had escaped. Perhaps Spike had forgotten to lock the door after him when he left Gears' room. Without the door locked, the motion sensor would have allowed the dog escape easily. Upon seeing a familiar visage his ears perked up and he galloped towards him, ears flapping and rear end wiggling. Red Alert panicked and fled the hall. Gears bent down to pick up his friend, completely crestfallen. Optimus was furious.

"What," he demanded, voice barely controlled, "is THAT?"

"It's Roscoe, Prime. He's my dog." Gears' voicebox trembled a little. Bumblebee tried not to feel anything for him but failed.

"Autobots do not keep pets." Prime's voice still had that dangerous edge to it. Gears, now sullen at the inevitable punishment he would receive, sneered at the pronouncement.

"Does that mean we're getting rid of Bumblebee?" he demanded. The yellow mech was no longer empathetic. His cheerful face had a deep scowl as the final straw broke his back.

"Slag you, Gears!" Bumblebee bellowed, moving in to fight.

"Your mother was a toaster, BUG!"

"Hey hey hey! Wait a minute!" Raoul stepped in before mechanical fists began flying, giving Prime a moment to regain his temper. "What is WITH you guys? I thought you liked each other better than that!"

"I never did!" Gears cried, arms still holding his dog. Roscoe looked frightened. He whined softly, back legs scratching against Gears in panic.

"Liar! You weren't saying that when you got what you wanted!" Bumblebee backed off, with Tracks' strong arms pulling him back and Spike's pleading. "Then one day-poof! You tell me not to come around anymore! Don't you think that would HURT me?"

Roscoe squirmed in Gears' arms as they beheld the spectacle in front of him. The mech shook is head and tried to walk away, but Raoul was right there.

"We either settle this NOW or I let Prime handle you. Talk, Gears! What changed your mind?"

Gears couldn't say anything. He shook his head harder and tried to pass the human, but his commanding officer, now in control of his fury, told him the minute that THIS conversation was over Gears and his pet were expected in Prime's office. With that, Optimus walked away from the scene and slammed the hall door behind him so hard it broke. All heads swiveled back to Gears, who was scowling even more as he placed his dog down and told it to sit. Roscoe complied.

"He...he started talking about...being sparkmates...bonding..." Gears made a gesture symbolizing his hands being tied. "I didn't want to do that. I didn't even want to hurt him, but...slaggit, 'Bee, I'm not that kind of mech. I liked having you around, but not the same way you did. I thought if I could- ah, forget it!" Gears couldn't say the rest, instead he headed for Prime's office. Raoul spoke again.

"You wanted to make him angry with you instead of hurt?" he guessed. Gears nodded. "Gears, you don't have to shut people out like that."

"Yeah, I do. Like the little guy said himself, I'm a prick. If he saw my spark and didn't like it, then he'd hate me, too, and I guess I wanted to save him the trouble." Gears shrugged, trying to make it seem lighter than it was.

"Hate you too. What do you mean by that?" Tracks' mouth was hidden but the delighted smile was there. Somebody was going to be a hell of a counselor.

"Well, I'm...not good enough." Now he was embarrassed. He tried to go out the door but it was broken. The only other exit was behind Bumblebee.

"Gears, if he liked you, then you WERE good enough. I won't speak for him now, but I think I can safely say that. Right?"

Bumblebee nodded. "I just wanted to know why, that's all." He stepped out of Gears' way without requesting an apology. Roscoe followed his friend down the hall to get a leash before they went into Prime's office.

Raoul turned around and strutted past all of them, causing Tracks to laugh. Spike turned to his own friend, who seemed to be taking it all in.

"Are you OK?" he asked. Bumblebee shrugged.

"I'm going...for a drive." Spike understood. He went to find the tools to fix the door.

Kennel

Optimus Prime really didn't have an office in Sparkplug's garage. Spike's father had generously knocked out the wall between the office and the rest of the building and shared with him. Optimus didn't have a chair or a desk but had a place he could pontificate, even if there was no door. Gears walked in with Roscoe at his heels, his accompanist eagerly assuming this was a detour before they went for their twice-daily walk.

Prime had finally calmed down. Although he had told no one, he hated being here. Raoul and Spike got on his nerves with their bickering, and finding out that Bumblebee and Gears were doing naughty things behind closed doors made him irritated. There was nowhere to practice shooting, the weather varied too often, and...well...he was kind of lonely. At least in the ark there were enough Autobots around to keep those darker doubts from creeping in. There were things to do. (Prowl's reports on the mischief of the Lamborghini brothers uniquely served countless hours of entertainment.) Here there was a lot of spare time, with patrols yielding the usual reports of crime and only a few Autobots left to stare at each other as they waited for Megatron to emerge from his hiding place. Optimus Prime looked at the latest source of annoyance without much compassion.

They made a gloomy pair: Gears was scowling and the animal that sat next to him had his eyebrows furrowed in some kind of melancholy confusion. Optimus wanted to sit down but there was no chair. He wanted to pace but there was no room. He missed his shelf of memorabilia that he looked at while he thought things over. "Does that thing go for walks?" he asked. Gears nodded, mentioning a planned trip to Central Park. Prime offered to accompany them, as long as the dog rode inside of the truck. On the way there Roscoe stuck his head out of the open window and allowed his ears to flap in the wind.

"That is cute!" Prime commented, his mood lifting slightly. The clouds were clearing as the sun set, making everything damp and cool. The beast opened its mouth to pant slightly, looking as though he were smiling.

Once they were underway, ignoring the open-mouthed stares from the tourists and more than one jogger complaining they moved too slow, Optimus broached the subject again. "I have known you for a long time, my friend."

"We've been through a lot," Gears responded, nodding while Roscoe pulled him toward a row of trees.

"Both of us have a great deal of respect for our Autobot cause, and for what we're all sacrificing our lives for..." Roscoe stopped his wandering to stare down a squirrel. Growl. Bark! Bark! The rodent with a perm didn't stand a chance. Gears tugged on the leash as firmly as he dared. Roscoe galloped back and walked with them, cropped tail wagging like crazy. "...which is why I question your motivation for defying the most basic and necessary Autobot rule. We do not keep sub-beings for companions."

"Am I?" Gears challenged, pulling out a bag to deal with something he didn't want to. "I don't recall you telling Tracks that when he brought Raoul in to the garage."

"That's a human. There's a difference."

"I really don't agree with you, Prime." If Optimus had expected whining and sarcasm he was in for a disappointment. Gears had planned his attack thoroughly before going to the makeshift office. "They are both residents of this planet, whether one is a dominant species or not. Why can't they all be regarded as 'earthlings' and treated as equals, even if the dominant species doesn't? WE aren't the dominant species on our own planet, and I think we'd be offended if the humans classified us as 'sub-beings.' And I'm not the only one who has a companion of another species, before you even say anything about that. Remember that bounty hunter Smokescreen told us about on that gambling planet? What about that Quintesson who helped Alpha Trion during the first great wars? What about female Autobots?" Here he looked over at his leader scratching Roscoe's head with one fingertip. The dog wiggled in pure bliss. "He may not be a human, but he's my friend." Roscoe saw another squirrel and sprinted after it, calling in that staccato yelp that startled the nut-gatherer. Gears kept his leash taut as Roscoe pulled angrily at the animal.

"Spike does not require a leash," Optimus returned triumphantly. He needed time to formulate an argument logical enough to combat Gears' assertions. The pointed reference to Elita-1 did not auger well to his case. "Whether you wish to admit it or not, Gears, this animal does not function on the same level as a human, lizard-person, Quintesson, OR female Autobot. It has almost no sentience. It requires maintenance. Time and energy that are not aiding our cause. Can you imagine what would happen if I allowed Autobots to have pets? The Ark would be flooded with animals!" Gears suspiciously glanced at Optimus. Was that a joking referral to the Bible stories Spike told them last night, or one of his usual ironically misplaced statements? With Optimus one was never sure; his stoic face never wavered.

Not this time. Gears laughed and Optimus joined him. "I can see it now: Ratchet would have a parrot that swore at anyone coming in the door!"

"Seaspray would have a koi pond." Prime's eyes crinkled when he was amused. Roscoe ran ahead to greet some joggers.

"Sunstreaker would get his brother a llama!"

"Ironhide would have a horse."

"And Bumblebee would have Spike." Gears drove his point home sharply as they stopped at a lake for Roscoe to go nuts over the Canadian geese.

"No. I'm sorry, Gears, but the dog has to go." He was about to say something to cut off Gears' protest when his radio beeped.

"Come in Prime! It's Bumblebee! We have the detective! Repeat, the detective is in our custody!"

"He ain't talkin'," came in another voice from the background. "He's a defective detective." Prime nearly did a backflip.

"Jazz! Is that you?"

"I'm large, in charge, and toting Cliffjumper, Ironhide and Carly for an early weekend roster rotation!" Optimus turned off his radio and motioned to Gears.

"Thank Primus!" Now that Jazz was here he, Red Alert and Gears were going back to the ark. Jazz couldn't have come at a better time. The Autobot leader was about to throw some people against the garage wall as it was; a change of location would soothe him. It might cure the smaller red Autobot of this phase he was going through as well.

Show teeth

Joseph Drader, P.I. was tied to the only chair in the office. Everyone was standing around him, but their attention focused on Raoul and Spike throwing fisticuffs and calling each other names. These two would be his death. Optimus sent them with Tracks to deliver the dog to the nearest animal shelter, and if they came back in worse shape then he'd last seen them they'd be SORRY. Gears stroked the soft head of the being and told it to be good in a voice that suggested his energon pump was breaking. Optimus tried to ignore it and failed. He told Gears to go to his quarters and wait. That being done, Prime turned to the 'defective detective.'

"Who sent you?"

"I can't break the client confidentiality agreement," the man informed him smoothly. "You can't keep me here, either. You're not the police."

"No. But being that you don't keep a travel log for confidentiality reasons, no one knows you're here, do they?" Carly may have been raised in the desert but Daddy had been in the UAW. As she told the man that they never found Hoffa, either, he paled slightly. "Talk."

He sighed. "I was hired by a toymaker. Hasbro." Drader looked around the giant machines to gauge their reaction. None. "They think kids would want to play with hand-sized Transformers. They hired me to take pictures of the more distinctive characters, like Tracks and Optimus Prime and Bumblebee." None of them reacted. Carly put a hand up to her mouth to test her breath. Spike had been eating something COVERED in garlic and his kiss had given the scary odor to her. Then she heard a request to untie their captive.

Optimus Prime leaned into Drader's face, looking as scary as an alien robot could. "I want a letter of apology from Hasbro for harassing my Autobots on my desk by next Monday. If they want to do business and copyright our likeness, they had better send a proposal to our lawyers like the Takara Toy company had to." His ability to take anything thrown at him and use it to their advantage was what made him Prime. Jazz marveled at the fact that Takara had NOT made any offers, nor did they have lawyers, but Drader didn't know that. Instead he thanked them and beat a hasty retreat for the door held open by Spike. Raoul walked in with Roscoe on his leash.

"Would you care to explain this?" Optimus demanded. He was still trying to get over the idea of a million tiny Primes sold in a toy store. The two young men looked at each other and babbled at once, interrupting the other.

"We did some talkin', Optimus, and-"

"Douchebag is trying to tell you that although we hate each other, we don't hate Gears-"

"And if honky here would shut the hell up, we'd tell you that WE are keeping Roscoe, not Gears."

"So he's not breaking any rules."

"And the dog stays." Both of them looked pretty smug.

Optimus sunk to the floor and laughed. And laughed. This was more ironically hilarious than the time he caught Megatron locking lips with Slag in Korea. "That's true. There's no rule against YOU keeping a dog." Both looked relieved, as though Optimus would have made dog food out of them for their insolence. Optimus continued to laugh, Jazz patting him on the back and chuckling quietly. Tracks was shaking his head as he cautiously walked back inside. Bumblebee whispered to Cliffjumper to go tell Gears the good news. Spike and Raoul, allowing a truce through their mutual good deed, ran after him with Roscoe galloping alongside them.

"How long do you think THAT alliance will work?" Carly asked, completely confused about all of this fuss over a Cocker Spaniel.

"Five minutes," responded Prime between gasps to cool his system.

Lay down

That night it was like a party. They still had a lot of cars to repair but Raoul and Spike had assistance from Carly and a few mini-bots. No one could decide what music to listen to, so Spike won by drawing the right paper out of a hat and picked the classic rock station. Raoul hated it but buried himself in a transmission repair instead of his usual complaining. They would rest and have refreshments, or dance, or just talk. It was a nice get-together. Optimus Prime walked down to Gears' chamber to see how he and Roscoe were coping.

The dog was sleeping on his blanket but politely stood to greet Prime at the door. "No, don't get up," he called to the beast. Roscoe ignored him and came over for a decent scratch. Gears looked up from the magazine he was reading to see Prime present him with an energon cube. "A peace offering." Gears scowled but accepted. He poured it evenly between two containers and allowed Prime first choice.

"Energon will not change the fact that I'm going back to the ark tomorrow," Gears snarled. "Did you think I would forget the fact that you ORDERED me to give up Roscoe?"

"Actually, the energon DOES save you from your departure. Bumblebee gave it to Cliffjumper to switch places with you so you could stay here. Cliffjumper gave it to ME to butter me up to the idea. Now I'm giving it to you."

"I wondered why you were giving me something that was ¾ full," commented the mech, standing up from his recharge plate to give Prime the best seat. He shook his head. "Ah, I can't stay mad at you. You had a good reason for the rule." Gears and Prime both knew their existence relied on being able to trust their compatriots to not hold a grudge. They clinked their beverages together and took a long drink. "That was nice of Bumblebee. Primus, if it were me, I'd be glad to see me go."

"Did he accept that explanation you gave about not being good enough for him?" Optimus Prime had heard it before.

"The humans did." Both laughed. Autobot behavior was not easily explained in human terms, making the joke that whatever a robot told them to make the earthlings believe there was an easier explanation was a good idea. "Bumblebee realized what I was doing and let it go. That's when he found that Drader guy outside."

Optimus nodded. "Tracks told me." Bumblebee was young. He had to learn the hard way that some Autobots are pricks. "He IS too good for you."

"I know! What was he thinking?" Roscoe wagged his tail as Gears stroked his flank.

"He wasn't. Bumblebee was after the same thing all of us are after, except he thought he could keep it."

Gears shook his head. "Nobody can own Gears, the Autobot nymphomaniac's best-kept secret. I was built to be solitary, except for Roscoe and the occasional wanderer lurching in here for a one-night stand."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Prime declared, putting down his cube and reaching for the light switch. "How about a nice send-off?"

Roscoe was shoved out the door with his blanket, where he barked until Optimus let him back in a few hours later.


End file.
